


Slow Arrow

by Shepard_Shakedown



Series: It's time travel baby [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Every inquisitor is canon, F/F, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Time Travel, graphic depictions of gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shepard_Shakedown/pseuds/Shepard_Shakedown
Summary: The air tasted bitter between them. The hostile quiet had wrapped like vines around their necks, like a saying she'd heard too many times. Careless words can strangle the voice that brings them."At the temple," Athanasia forced herself to meet Cassandra's accusing stare. "I told you I knew who was responsible for the divines death." She rolled her jacket up past her left elbow and unlaced the sleeve beneath."I underestimated just how much he'd taken from my memory. I need Hawke to give me some answers."[a timetravel fic about revenge, regret, and healing]
Relationships: Female Hawke/Female Inquisitor
Series: It's time travel baby [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633894
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12





	1. Red Sparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A warning: This fic is likely under rated. My work usually pushes a 16+ rating. This fic would be the equivalent of an R rating. 
> 
> This work deals with themes of self-harm, gore, graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of death, drug abuse, manipulation, revenge, and trauma. While it currently does not have the following content, it may touch on themes of sex, sexual violence, as well as other potential triggers. All chapters will have an additional content warning specific to that chapter in the author's notes at the top. 
> 
> If you would like me to change the rating on this fic, add additional tags, or are worried that a more specific trigger appears please contact me below in the comments or on twitter @someweirddragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited [2020-01-30]  
> -minor changes to grammar and spelling  
> -major and minor changes to some dialogue  
> -character descriptions added
> 
> [notible warnings]  
> -depictions of death  
> -minor descriptions of self-harm  
> -mentions of self-harm

Athanasia hadn't intended to go to the conclave, let alone into the same role she had before. But there she was, cursing her conscience and staring down the breach again. That had always been her failing, hadn't it? It was regrets piled on regrets and her own stupid inability to let go that led her back to Justinia. Back to Cassandra's yelling. Back five years, no wiser than she was when she got into this mess the first time. 

She should never have kept it.

Seeker Cassandra was the embodiment of fury and grief. She was messy, violent, and sharp. Her eyes, beautiful and dark, could not hide that. There would always be an echo of herself shaking with unshed sorrow behind them.

Her grip dug painfully into Athanasia's wrist as she shook her. It wasn't her fault that it hurt. She couldn't have known about the scabs beneath her sleeve. Athanasia hadn't until she felt the wound reopen and the blood soaking into her sleeve.

She hissed as Cassandra dropped her arm. "That!" Cassandra jabbed a finger at the breach. "That hole in the sky! Can you seriously say you know nothing about it?"

She looked down away from the breach, letting the dark mess of her hair fall into her face as she rubbed at her arm. It didn't help the pain. If anything, it made it worse, the grey fabric of her coat pulling at the now loose scabs. 

"I never said I knew nothing about it. Only that there were gaps in my memories." Cassandra scowled at her. "Would it satisfy you to know I didn't do this? I have my own questions. I want answers to."

Cassandra scowled. "And what questions are those?"

"Who I was looking for to start with." She peeked up beneath her bangs, watching Cassandra's face twist up in confusion. "Or did you think I came to the conclave specifically to blow it up?" 

Cassandra hesitated. "I…"

"You did." Athanasia finished for her, shaking her head. Of course Cassandra thought that. It was all black and white to her. "It doesn't really matter. You still need me to close the breach." She kicked at the gravel path leading away from the chantry she'd been held in. 

"You seem very sure you can." Cassandra frowned, reaching for her again. 

Athanasia hummed, offering her right arm in favour of the one still wounded. There was no point struggling. The faster Cassandra led her to the breach, the faster they'd both get answers. 

Athanasia took a moment to reply, waiting until they'd passed the majority of the people that had gathered. "That's what the anchor does." The seeker's steps faltered but did not stop. "Or rather the anchor is the half of the artifact that can close the breach, the part without a physical form."

"What are you saying?" Cassandra's grip tightened painfully, pulling her to a stop at the gate that led up to the destroyed temple. She shook Athanasia until she looked, meeting the seeker's gaze.

"There are gaps in what I know, Cassandra. I know he called it the anchor, and I know what it does. I also know that I stole it from him. But I don't know who he is, or what he wanted, or how I stole it. The memories are missing. Suffice to say this," She wiggled the glowing fingers on her left hand. "This is only one half of the key that opened the breach. I failed to steal the other part. I was supposed to prevent this."

She pulled her arm from Cassandra's grip, twisting her wrists in the rope that bound them. "Calling it an anchor isn't really accurate either." She admitted. "It's more like… An ichor, the blood of a god trying to return to itself."

"How poetic." Cassandra scoffed. She shook her head, pulling a dagger from her belt. She sawed at the binds until they loosened, leaving them abandoned on the bridge as she pressed forward.

"Yes, well, the person who made it has a knack for flowery nonsense." 

She held back when they reached the bridge across the valley. Something had happened to the bridge, hadn't it? She'd remembered it being broken at some point. But had that happened now or after they'd passed through?

She felt the pulse of the breach before she saw the fade matter in the sky. She'd held back; her feet firmly planted where the bridge began. But Cassandra... She lunged, Shoving the seeker out of its path as it hit.

The bridged shattered beneath them, throwing them onto the frozen river below with a violence that left Athanasia gasping for air. She watched the fade matter take form on the ice beside them. Cassandra was already on her feet. But then she was still angry, and demons were perfect for punching. 

Athanasia groaned, rolling over and pushing herself up to her feet. She didn't need the overgrown splinter in the rubble behind her to deal with the second demon that had spawned from the breach. If anything it would have gotten in her way. She'd never gotten used to using a staff. They were too unwieldy for her.

She looped a hand behind the demon and dug her nails into its miasmic neck. Her mana followed from her other hand at its chest, carving through flesh as she folded it into a blade. It was more brutal than she'd intended, ripping the creature nearly in half. But she wasn't about to argue something that had worked.

Athanasia noted the disapproving glare Cassandra shot her as she stepped away from the carnage and evaporating gore. It was expected. She hadn't made a point to inspire trust in the seeker, and she wasn't about to go out of her way too.

Cassandra was the one to break the hostile silence between them. "You failed to mention you were a mage." 

"You failed to ask." She replied. "It wasn't a secret. Don't worry, seeker. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be talking."

"I should…!"

"Tie me up? Kill me? Force the rite upon me as Templars do?" She shook her head. "My goal is the same as yours. I want to close the breach and personally strangle the one responsible for it. I'm not going to sit around like a helpless little girl and wait for you to protect me. Or should I just lay down and die?" 

She held Cassandra's gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time until the seeker looked away, pacing towards the shore. "No."

"No?"

"You will have a fair trial after the breach is closed. I can promise that."

"Because trials run by humans are always fair." She muttered under her breath. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Whether I live or die is irrelevant. The ichor will persist even if I die." She walked past Cassandra down the familiar path. 

"That is… A morbid thought."

"It's a fact."

Cassandra didn't like her method of fighting. It was too aggressive and brutal for a mage. But it worked. There was no place for honour in war, no place for fair fights and elegance. You won with every dirty trick in the book, or you died. Cassandra couldn't complain much. After all, it was Athanasia's tactics that got them to the first rift so quickly. 

And then he was gripping her hand. Forcing the ichor to latch on to the rift. Forcing her to be touched by the very reason she was there.

She broke his grip on her wrist as soon as the rift was closed. Then she turned to face him with an icy green glare. " _ Touch me again, and I will teach you the definition of fear _ ."

He frowned, violet eyes watching her with confusion. "I'm not sure wha…"

"You know exactly what you did!" She stepped away from him. He could play at being a sheep, but regardless of his attire the pride of a beast would always bleed through. "You know exactly why I hate you, wolf."

His eyes narrowed as he processed her words. "I see." his tone was flat, the edge of a question almost touching it. But there wasn't anything he could say with everyone's eyes on him.

He never changed, even when he did. His voice, his posture, those damn purple eyes, and his smug fucking grin. She should have had better control. But the wounds were still fresh. She could still see him standing above her, his hands stained with her blood. His name on her lips as she died like a dog at his feet. " _ Solas _ ."

Someone cleared their throat behind her before speaking in a familiar voice. "You two know each other." 

"It's been my life long mission to personally deck him in the face." She ground out, tearing her gaze away from Solas, to the dwarf behind her. 

Varric was a small comfort to see. A friend among monsters that must have been freezing with his coat wide open. As if he could ever be persuaded to close it in anything less than a blizzard. He choked on a laugh, settling his crossbow on his shoulder. "What?"

"You can't be serious." Solas's voice dripped with incredulity. 

"I'm not." She glared back at him, gripping her wrist where he'd touched her. "My unbridled rage is a recent development. As I said before. He knows what he's done."

"And what exactly is that?" Cassandra cut in.

"Ask him." She didn't elaborate. Instead, she followed the trail down. She could feel the tug of another rift further into the valley and more demons. But there were always more demons. More and more spirits corrupting as they were pulled through. He knew this would happen.

"You seem very adept at using the mark." Solas breached the unhappy silence she'd enforced after she'd closed the second rift of the day. 

"Magic is magic, caustic and green as it is." 

He opened his mouth to speak again. His attempts to pry information from her obvious in his tone. He'd always been subtle. But she had the advantage of knowing him. 

"What do you want me to say, Solas?" She cut him off, her voice low as she turned on him stopping inches from his face. "What can I say that won't lay both of our secrets bare for everyone to see?" He frowned, uncomfortable but making no effort to move away. "See, I honestly couldn't care less about telling people your secrets but mine… Mine could get people killed if they get out, and they are all tangled up with yours."

"You have no intention of telling anyone." He watched her face his voice just as quiet.

"When my people are safe, when all the havoc and despair you've caused us is no longer a threat… I can make no promises. Only that my people will always come first." The people of Thedas. The Inquisition. They would come before him and his lost elvehn homeland. She turned on her heel, stalking further ahead.

"Of course, you are dalish." He drawled, ignoring Cassandra and Varric's questioning looks. 

Athanasia did the same. "You speak like the dalish are some sort of plague. They're just people. Different from what you know, maybe, but just people." She let out a breath. "I haven't been dalish in a long time. But would it change anything if I was? My people have never been so easily defined with labels. They're just people I care about."

Solas was quiet for a moment. "I see." He said finally. "My apologies."

"For your judgements of me or of everyone else?" She shoved past him to the bridge. "Save your hollow apologies for someone that cares."

It didn't matter what path forward they took. But faster was better. Athanasia was always more comfortable fighting anyway, one of the few sentiments she shared with Cassandra. She'd always been a fighter first.

The conclave was a mess of ash and charred remains when they reached it. The area around it full of people that had tried and failed to escape, people she'd failed. 

Few things had escaped the ire of the breach; Metal trinkets and fragments of armour and staves, and among them something that shouldn't have been there... 

Her feet stalled in the ashy dirt, and her hands quivered, reaching for it. The body it hung on was charred and twisted like the others she'd walked past. But this one was different. Athanasia knew her.

The guilt that rose up in her throat was suffocating, like acid in her throat rising and threatening to empty her stomach onto the ground.

Athanasia swallowed the feeling, her fingers brushing ash and charred flesh off the only thing that remained. The twisted glass should have shattered ages ago, long before two of them had even reached the conclave. But the world had a sick sense of humour. She could still feel the protection spell she'd woven over it, protecting the glass trinket but little else.

"Shit." Varric breathed behind her. She could hear the shuffle of his feet, restless. "This place gives me the creeps."

"The veil is thinner here. It…" Solas started.

"It's because of the death." Athanasia cut him off pulling her hand away from the corpse. " _ The veil _ is crying, as it does in places like this. It cries for people like her." She reached for her body again. Her hands tracing the air around her face, afraid to touch her, terrified to watch her crumble. 

Athanasia let the silence linger between them, her hand drifting back down to the pendant. "I told her to stay away." She whispered. "She should have listened."

"I'm sorry." Cassandra murmured, the air between them stagnant. 

"People die. She was always going to die." Athanasia caressed the pendant, her hand moving slowly around it, to cradle it in her palm. "I had just... Hoped it would later. But the world is rarely merciful." She gripped the pendant shutting her eyes before tugging it free.

She crumbled like Athanasia knew she would. Ash spilled like a wave, washing over her with the winter winds. There was no goodbye she could offer worthy enough. The fade would grieve her friend in ways she never could. It would welcome her, preserving the best of her for everyone that came after. 

When her eyes opened, it was to stare at her closed fist before stuffing the pendant into her pocket. She'd lingered too long in the arched doorway into the temple's ruins. 

Sacred ashes. What a joke. The only ash that remained here was scorned by the chantry. Who would morn anyone but the Divine who hadn't even died here? 

Athanasia forced herself to her feet, smearing ash and tears across her cheeks as if wiping it away would erase her own guilt. Her feet moved her forward like a zombie. One after the other. Left. Right. Left again. 

"Are you…?" Varric cleared his throat. She could already hear the rest of the question. Was she alright?

"I have to be. Those left behind have to endure, right?" She didn't look at him as she answered. Instead, she wiped her filthy palm on her pants before running it over her hair. Her fingers still caught in the knots, pulling painfully at her scalp. 

And then her voice rang through the ruins sapping whatever warmth still remained in her. 

"Athi?"

The first reflection was supposed to be one of the Divine. A call for help, a warning, a scream even. It wasn't supposed to be her, calling Athanasia's name with such genuine worry, that her heart ached. It wasn't supposed to be one of herself carving at her skin with short, deliberate strokes, shaking with desperation. 

"What are you doing?!" The panicked voice rang out as the reflection revealed a woman she recognized too well. It didn't do her justice. The fade hadn't quite captured the warm orange of her hair or the freckles that coated her tanned skin. "Athi?!"

"I know what I'm doing, Elaira." She shook the elven circle mage off. " _ He _ may take his name from my mind. But he will not take my body. I will remember, no matter what."

"At least let me stop the bleeding." Elaira begged. She tugged at Athanasia's blood-soaked hand, angling her arm up to see the wounds better. 

Athanasia shrugged her off. "I need it to scar, there's…" Her reflections head snapped up, hearing something the fade hadn't remembered. She pulled her hand free to grip Elaira's shoulders. "You need to run now!" She shoved her towards the exit. 

"But…"

"If I fail, there will be nothing left. Run." She shoved Elaira again. "Run and don't look back, Ela." 

Cassandra watched the vision fade frowning. "If you fail." She repeated. "What does that mean? What were you doing, Athi?"

She gripped her arms, casting an unhappy look at Solas. "It means what I said." She whispered. "That if I failed, the conclave would be destroyed. I told you already. I was supposed to prevent this."

Cassandra let out a frustrated growl. "Yes, yes. Some sort of ploy to steal an artifact from a man you can't remember. And what of Solas? How is he involved? Explain anything in a way that makes sense!"

Athanasia watched Cassandra pace in the light of the breach. "Solas and I both planned to steal the same artifact. Separately." And for different reasons. "Magic is all the same. It doesn't have purpose until you give it one."

"Let me guess. This guy used Blondies fuck up as an inspiration." Varric let out a dry laugh.

"Maybe. He wanted chaos. What better way is there to make it than target a place with warring factions and a beloved symbol of peace?" Athanasia ignored the low curses varric replied with, watching Solas frown out of the corner of her eye.

"What were you planning on doing with it, presuming it didn't kill you?" Solas crossed his arms, his expression one she knew well. Guarded, judging, and curious. 

"I expected to die, wolf." She turned her full attention to him. "I was prepared to if that was the price I had to pay to destroy it." He narrowed his gaze, the hard line of his lips betraying his disapproval. "What is one life to prevent the deaths of hundreds? You know as well as I do he won't stop here. Why else would you remain when what you're looking for is long gone." He didn't answer. 

Cassandra groaned. "And what does all this mean? You two keep talking in riddles."

"It means we both failed to retrieve the artifact." She ran a hand over her left sleeve. "And neither of us knows where it is. Or do you know?"

Solas shook his head. "No, but I expect the man responsible…"

"He didn't die." She pushed herself to continue walking avoiding the red lyrium scattered across the ground. "It's why he stole his name from me. I can kill him if I have it. I think."

The next reflection was less of a shock. It came just before the drop down into the first rift. Athanasia's voice followed the Divine's cries.

"Justinia! And… You bastard!" Her voice garbled as she said his name. She'd expected that. She could see the blood dripping down her arm as she flung a wave of ice at him.

He blocked it effortlessly, but she'd never intended it to hit. Instead, it was the distraction the Divine needed to repeat the events of her past life. If she couldn't steal Fen'harel's focai, she could at least take the mark. Athanasia's scream was the last echo in the remains of the conclave. 

"The divine called out to you." Cassandra murmured. "And you…"

"I failed to save her." She finished.

"You tried to." Cassandra turned to Solas. "That is what we saw right."

She answered, instead. "A failure is a failure, Cassandra. I tried, I failed and now it falls to close the breach before it spreads further. I'm going to reopen it so it can be closed properly. Prepare for a fight."

She didn't bother to wait for Cassandra's reply before tearing open the threads that held the first rift together. The first time she'd opened this rift, she'd held on too long. The mana pouring out of it had latched onto her own like a leach, and she hadn't known how to stop it. It had almost killed her the first time, but she knew the mark better now. She knew how to shake off the threads, and she knew the demon that would come through.

Cassandra didn't like the way she fought. It was too reckless, too brutal for a mage. But fights were never kind. You won with every dirty trick at your disposal, or you died. 

She wrapped her mana around the demon's neck like a noose, razor-sharp and digging in deeper as it struggled. She didn't quite sever its head from its neck, but it came close. Its blood; Closer to fog than liquid; Rolled across the corrupted earth as it fell at her feet, as she turned back to the breach.

She'd always been good at dealing death, her mind detached from the battlefield. Her body moving away while a part of her remained with the corpse of her victim. Her hand reaching out to the sky as her eyes glazed over. Her mana pulling back into herself as her legs gave out. 

Regret would visit her later. But for now, the world was black. 


	2. The Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're awake." Cassandra said finally.  
> "And not in chains." She nodded. "Always a good start to the day. Though the whole Herald of Andraste thing is… Alarming." As always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited [2020-02-01] [2/4]  
> -minor changes to spelling and grammar  
> -major and minor changes to some dialogue  
> -character descriptions added  
> -location of major conversation changed
> 
> [notible warnings]  
> -depictions of death  
> -depictions of gore  
> -mentions of self-harm

The scent of rotting food was a constant in this section of the fade. The stench of rotting fruit and meat, accompanying the scent of death. But then, she'd grown used to that. The banquet and its numerous guests never got smaller. It only grew, as more seats were filled in the red hall. 

Red crystal jutted from the walls glowing and growing larger further in. Their song, the song of the blighted, was quiet as it had been since she first entered the hall. Time was irrelevant in the fade, and here it was nearly stalled. The table, strewn with a long-abandoned banquet, was cracked and layered with dust and insects feasting on the remains. Each chair was filled with bodies in varying states of decay, illuminated by the red light of the lyrium and the throne at the end of the table. It was the part Athanasia hated most. Though it was less the Crystal throne she hated, and more the person that usually sat upon it. 

Elaira was the newest addition. Her body was still new, and far from the charred corpse it had been at the conclave. In time, however, she'd rot like everyone else at this table.  _ She _ had a sick sense of humour, after all. But then there wasn't anything Athanasia could do about that. It was, after all,  _ her  _ mercy that had allowed her the chance to pursue the wolf and the beast he'd unleashed on them. 

As if gods were capable of mercy in the first place. She was growing tired of them. They always had their hands in everything, were always demanding something. Always breathing down her neck with expectations and promises of death. 

For once, she was absent from the throne she'd made herself. While the corpse party itself was unnerving, it was a small comfort that the god had abandoned it, at least for now. She would be back eventually with her cryptic taunting. But not tonight, it seemed. 

There was never a point to remaining in the fade for long. The god that had made Athanasia her pawn couldn't be killed by her, not yet. And the party… She could leave if she wanted to, but running around the fade blind was always a risk, and the man best equipped to change that was a bigger one. 

There was no trusting Solas to get her out of this mess. He'd put her in the middle of it after all. He'd left her at the mercy of a god he'd angered. He'd left her to die and for what?

Athanasia had been left to her own devices for now. But that freedom would always be conditional. The absent god was confident her anger at Solas would lead to her own, and if it didn't... 

Revenge was a fickle thing. Who it was against, what it was for, what its cost was… There was so much she hated, and while she hated him, was it worth it?

She hadn't decided yet. She hadn't decided what she wanted.

She touched Elaira's face, brushing her orange hair out of her eyes. Elaira would have forgiven him. She'd have begged him to find another way. 

Athi wouldn't beg.

Haven felt like an echo when she woke; Like whispers over whispers, all similar but different enough to disorient her. It always felt weird to see it full of life and in the throes of the Inquisition's starting, when the end of it was still fresh in her mind. This wasn't where her path started, but it was always where it began to split.

She hadn't been entirely comfortable in the Inquisition the first time. She didn't have the foresight to see what it could become or where she fit. She understood the role she had to play now. Even if she hadn't decided what path to walk yet, they all had the same starting, with her hand raised to the breach and a river of blood her feet. 

It was seeing herself that was strangest. She hadn't changed much. Her black hair still curled above her shoulders. The twisting strands of Gilan'nain's horns still stained her face beneath her bangs. Her skin was still a warm, rich brown absent of the many scars it should have had. Her eyes were still a strange pale shade of green like her mothers. They were more tired than they had any right to be, but they were the same. In spite of everything, she was the same. 

She barely acknowledged the people lining her walk to the chantry. It had been uncomfortable returning to her former prison, passing the awed whispers of people that once condemned her. She didn't hate them or the chantry for that matter. It was just uncomfortable. Most of these people would follow her like moths into war. Their blind reverence of her and their god weighing on her shoulders as her decisions led many to an inevitable death. But it was a weight she was used to. 

She could deny that she was Andraste's Herald to the end of days, but it wouldn't change anything. They wouldn't stop their reverence of her, even if she became a monster. 

It was easier to say nothing and let them believe what they wanted. To let that card remain on the table until it had a use. 

It always had a use.

Of course, the Inquisition was bickering when she reached them. Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen rarely agreed without yelling. They'd been that way from the start. 

The room fell silent as she entered. 

Of the four, Josephine was only one looked out of place, an exception to the unspoken dress code of the war room. Her dark hair was immaculate as always, as was the dress that matched her beauty. 

Cullen looked the same as he always did, armoured and soft compared to his past as a templar. The tiredness in his brown eyes was easy to mistake for irritation. But she saw it for what it was, the absence of lyrium. 

Leliana was least surprised to see her. Her armour was more casual than the others. The chain mail hood that usually covered her ginger hair was lowered, her gauntlets abandoned on the table in the middle of the room. She watched Athanasia with an interest from her place on the wall.

And Cassandra. Her surprise was quick to melt into excitement and hope. She'd never been good at hiding her thoughts. 

"You're awake." Cassandra said, finally.

"And not in chains." Athanasia nodded. "Always a good start to the day. Though the whole Herald of Andraste thing is… Alarming." As always.

Cullen snorted from his place on the other side of the table. "You are not the only one that thinks so."

"Yes, well, the chantry is alarmed by its own shadow all the time. Like some sort of freakishly powerful baby. I at least have some concept of object permanence." She waved a hand absently.

Cassandra chuckled. "It certainly seems like that some days…"

"Like today." Leliana added. She was less guarded than she had been in the chantry's prison. Knowing the people in the room weren't enemies did that. 

"With the Chancellor?" Cassandra scoffed, her body moving to pace away her irritation. "Rodrick has no power here. He is a fool if he thinks so."

"I imagine if you yelled that any louder at him, Athi would have heard it at the gates." The spymaster rolled her eyes. Her arms were crossed as she leaned against the wall behind Cassandra.

Josephine shook her head. Her mischievous smirk was not quite hidden behind her hand when she spoke. "It was quite loud."

"Was that what woke me?" Athanasia could feel her lips twitch up. 

Cassandra ran a hand down her face. "I wasn't that loud."

"Of course not, seeker." Athanasia let herself smile for a moment. "Onto a more serious topic, I expect the inquisition would like me to stay and deal with the breach." 

"You are the…" Leliana started.

"Yes." Cassandra cut her off, ignoring Leliana's glare. Her pacing stilled as she addressed her. "It would be appreciated, Athi."

"Then, I suppose introductions are necessary." She raked her eyes over the room. "My name is Athanasia, formerly of clan Lavellan. I look forward to working with you."

There was low a flat edge to her tone that always slipped out when she got down to business. The neutral expression her face held made her seem more bored and disinterested than she actually was. Everyone noticed, save for Cassandra. But then she had always been oblivious to it.

"Athanasia?" Cassandra frowned. 

"The world has a strange sense of humour." She shrugged. 

"So, it would seem." Leliana mused, glancing at the map on the table. "The flower blooms in the north, doesn't it?" It would make sense that Leliana would see the irony of her name, even if she didn't know the half of it.

"And out west." She confirmed. "It's rather persistent." She rubbed the back of her neck, absently.

Cassandra cleared her throat. "You have already met Leliana, our spymaster, and commander Cullen." She gestured to them.

"It was only for a moment, but it is good to see you are well." He nodded. 

"That just leaves our ambassador, Josephine." Cassandra finished.

Athanasia nodded. "It's a pleasure. I'm sure my decision to stay comes as no surprise." Cullen frowned. "Unless Cassandra forgot to tell you about my involvement with the breach…" her voice dragged over the first few words. 

"There was little time for that. It was enough that you were not responsible." Cassandra admitted. "It's only been a day since you closed the rift."

"I see." She bit her lower lip. Had the Inquisition always been this disorganized? She pinched the bridge of her nose. "It was not an accident that I was with the divine at the conclave. My intention was to steal the artifact used to create the breach and destroy it. Obviously, I failed."

She set her hands on the table, taking in the weirdly blank world map. She was used to it being filled with markers and little tears. They'd had to replace it entirely a few times; Cullen and Cassandra hadn't exactly been the kindest to it. "While I'm not entirely sure who has the artifact. I do know what he wants and who he'll target next."

"And that is?" Cullen leaned over the table, watching as she tapped two points on the map. His body tensed as her mana pooled into small flames above them.

"The templars at Therinfal Redoubt, and the mages in Redcliffe. We don't have the resources to approach either of them yet. But we do have time before he acts."

Leliana moved closer. "The inquisition is still new if this man…"

"He's gone out of his way to be unnoticed. He won't act while everyone is watching both parties. He'll wait until no one's looking." She glanced at Leliana. The spymaster's posture hadn't changed much, but it was enough for Athanasia to note her discomfort. "It's what I'd do. It's also one of the reasons I'm still here. The Inquisition is my best bet for drawing him out into the open." She rubbed at the back of her neck. They didn't know her yet, of course, her words would chafe. 

"And the other reasons?" Leliana prompted. She'd made an effort to loosen her posture.

"Would be the rifts." Athanasia reached for the map again, marking Haven with a spire of ice before continuing to tap out more locations around it. "I can find the ones near Haven easy enough. The ichor drags towards them. But finding anything further out would require time and resources I don't have. When the veil has torn in the past, it was generally in places where death gathers. Graves and massacres, places where magic has worn it thin, places with a strong history. There are a few exceptions, but following that criteria would be a strong start." 

"And what about this man's targets? The mages and templars?" Leliana frowned. She had a bad habit of biting her nails when she over thought. Now was no different.

Athanasia looked up from the map at Leliana first, then Josephine. "That's a diplomacy problem. No?"

She hadn't missed the hours of arguing and she was thankful to have a reason to duck out early for once. They didn't know and never would know that the mark didn't cause migraines. Used sparingly, that excuse would last her years. 

It wasn't a complete lie that she was in pain this time. She was planning to visit a healer, but not for a headache. She'd only briefly looked at the scabs along her forearm as she was dressing, but the wounds had seemed more inflamed than they should have been. They burned in a way that told her an infection was setting in. 

She peeled the fabric of her sleeve up, rolling it above her elbow as she walked out of the chantry. The cracked scabs along her wrist were caked dried puss. More swelled to the surface as she moved it, her skin twisting in a way that pulled the scabs further apart. 

The ichor hadn't done much to help the wound. Green veins had formed beneath her skin around the cuts, pulsing with a soft glow. The fade matter had aggravated everything it touched. In time, it would settle into her skin, but it was still restless.

The lines she'd carved into her flesh were messy but legible. The name was large and clear. But it meant nothing to her. Knowing it was the name of the man responsible did nothing to jog her memory. 

_ Who the fuck was Corypheus? _

"You on your way out?"

Her steps stalled at the bottom of the western steps by the tavern. Her eyes tearing away from the wound to the familiar dwarf leaning against the door frame.

"No, I'm staying." She shook her head, dropping her arms to her sides. They swung a little as she let her gaze wander around Haven.

"Huh. Can't say I was expecting that with Cassandra's warm welcome." He pushed off the door frame, rolling his shoulders.

"She was grieving, and I was a suspect." Athanasia rolled her eyes. "I also have the demeanour of a drenched cat. Or so I've been told."

Varric choked on a laugh. "Who told you that?"

"Plenty of people." She waved a hand absently. "Athi, why are you antagonizing your cousin? Athi, would it kill you to pretend to be interested. Don't offend the nobles this time, Athi. Athi this, Athi that." She waved a finger as she talked. She blew her bangs out of her face in irritation. "I'm no good with people." She let her arm drop again, watching Varric's face slip from amusement into something closer to fear. 

"Yeah…" He cleared his throat again. She frowned, following his gaze to the infected skin of her wrist. "Makers breath, that looks…" He trailed off. 

"You recognize the name." She stated. He squirmed, uncomfortable under her stare. "Corypheus."

He flinched. "Yeah." He shuffled in place. "Look, I know that weird… Fade ghost thing said he was responsible." Varric pointed to cuts. "But it's impossible. I mean, Hawke killed him years ago!"

Athanasia huffed a short laugh. "Some people are harder to kill than others." She was living proof of that. 

"Marian is pretty thorough, Athi." He shook his head. "She's big on making sure darkspawn magisters stay dead."

"I don't doubt that. I've seen her in action." She glanced over her shoulder to her original destination. "But there's got to be a catch she didn't know about. Most things that I'm involved in are pointlessly complicated like that."

His mouth gaped as he attempted to process her words. "You've met Hawke?" He managed after a moment.

"I didn't say that." She crossed her arms, ignoring the stinging of her wounds. "We've never met. I just… Saw her." 

"You just saw her?"

"I've been to Kirkwall. After it all went to shit. It…" She could feel her brows scrunch together as she struggled to find the right words. "It sucked."

"Ah." He nodded, his expression shifting into something more sombre. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I didn't…" She groaned, running a hand over her face. 

"It's fine." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I was the one that asked."

The awkward air between them lingered. "I really should get my arm looked at, Varric." She looked back over her shoulder. 

"Right." He kicked at the dirt beneath his feet. "Look, I'll ask Hawke what she knows. She might know something about Corypheus that I don't."

Athanasia hesitated. "You know Cassandra will hate that, right?" Every time Varric brought her into the Inquisition, Cassandra threw a fit.

"I'll deal with that if she finds out." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Marian will want to know."

"When she finds out." She corrected. She sucked in a breath through her teeth cursing. "I can't really stop you, can I."

"I… Hawke will have my head if I don't tell her." He threw his hands up.

"And Cassandra will have it if you do." She shook her head. "Fuck. Fine. I'll deal with Cassandra if it comes to it." Hawke liked to deal with things in person. It was more than likely she'd show up regardless of the backlash. Of she'd cover for them. Varric was vital to the Inquisition and Hawke was important to him. "Just… When she shows up..."

"She…" He frowned then shook his head. "No, you're right."

"Tell her to play along. We're heading to the Hinterlands once things are settled here." She turned away, taking a few steps. "Take care, Varric."

Adan wasn't the most hospitable as far as healers went. He wasn't much of a healer at all if she was being honest. The man belonged in a well-stocked lab away from the endless wave of wounded soldiers and civilians. But he was all the Inquisition had, and for what he lacked in tact and patience, he made up for in knowledge. 

"Just a salve?" He eyed her skeptically. "Wouldn't a mage be..."

She made a disgusted noise. "A salve will stave off the infection. Magical healing should be in moderation." His brows drew together as he scanned his shelves. "It can mess with touch, things can grow in the wrong way, horrid scarring, instill a false sense of invulnerability, misaligned joints, fused joints…" She tapped out the list on her fingers. "Oh, but any mage can heal." She rolled her eyes before returning her gaze to the shelf of ingredients. "I know what I need, Adan."

"Not a fan of mages then…" He passed her the salve. 

"Not a fan of magical healing." She corrected. It hadn't always been the case. But then you only really saw the horror of it after decades of unending war. 

"Wait, aren't you a mage?" His mouth turned up in confusion. Adan wouldn't understand her hesitation. He didn't know it first hand.

She ignored his question in favour of rolling the jar over in her hand. She had an uncomfortable amount of experience with treating her own wounds. Cleaning, treating, dressing them, realigning bones when she needed, suturing flesh. War was messy and merciless, she'd learned that the hard way.

She didn't linger in Adan's cabin. There was no point to it when she had other things to do. She had more influence with the inquisitions men than she probably should have this early on, and she planned to use it. 

Settling the Inquisition was the first step. It was inevitable that people would be restless and insecure both in where the Inquisition stood and who was responsible. Restless minds turned to blame, and that blame would boil over if left unchecked. So began the tedious process of organizing peace talks. 

Solas had ignored her when she first passed him as much as he ignored anyone. He watched her like the threat she was, frowning when he noticed her gaze from Adan's doorway. It only deepened when she moved towards him. 

"So, the chosen herald of Andraste graces me with her presence." He nodded a greeting. His body was tense. Guarded.

"You and I both know that title is bullshit, Fen." She tugged her sleeve over the new bandage. She did bother trying to keep the flat tone out of her voice.

He drew his brows together. "Is it?"

"Yes. I've grown fond of the phrase no gods, no masters. Being a herald of any god, no matter how idealistic, is antithetical to that." She watched his face. "You understand."

He hummed, his expression still guarded. "I do. Though I can't say, I expected it from you."

"That would be because you don't know me." She paced towards the stairs, turning to look back at him when she reached the top step. 

"Then it stands to reason I should ask." He crossed his arms. "But, I'm guessing I wouldn't get an answer."

"I am who I've always been. Athanasia Mireille, formerly of clan Lavellan." She offered a short bow, a smirk gracing her lips as she looked up at him. "It's a pleasure."

He huffed a laugh. "Of course."

"Seriously speaking, though. My actions will always prove more than anything I could tell you. I am… Not always good with words."

"I imagine you threaten every person you meet."

"Would you rather I hadn't told you, and have you guessing where you stood with me?" She cocked her head. "Did you want me to lie and say pretty words to you? _ I do hate you _ . That is where you stand. You'd have found out eventually." She shook her head. "Telling you now serves a purpose."

"Does it?"

"Yes." She raised the mark against the breach. "You see, I'm the slow arrow you fired into the air. It's up to you to decide if you're going to stay in my path." She pulled her hand back watching the anchor flicker across her palm.

"Because I am the wolf your people hate?"

"Because you are complicit in the genocide of my people at best." She stated. "Or did you not know my people would have to die for your elvehn homeland?" He flinched. "Or maybe you just don't consider us people?" She let out a huff. "Of course, you don't. We aren't  _ your _ people."

She shook her head, waiting for a reply he didn't have. "There is no easy way forward from here. But I can see it... Maybe clearer than you can."

"What are you planning, Athanasia?" His words were slow and cautious.

"I plan to close the breach. Beyond that… It depends on you." She shrugged. "If you're looking for a more immediate plan. I was going to harass our mages and templars into a more stable peace."

"That's… An interesting choice of words."

"I'm not really the diplomatic type." She nodded for him to follow. 

"So, you keep proving." His body betrayed his curiosity, moving to follow before he decided.

"Then do something about it, in the interest of not watching an asset destroy itself." She descended the steps, leading him towards Haven's tavern.

Her plan was a simple one. But then, it didn't have to be complicated; it just hinged on her own influence. Solas, surprisingly, hadn't objected to it. Inviting the mages and templars to peace talks in the chantry wasn't a hard task in itself. It was deciding what to say after, what details to keep to herself that was the problem.

"You're going to yell at each other." She stated to the crowd she'd gathered in Haven's tavern. "You're going to yell and complain and be at each other's throats until you come to a head and eventually decide to kill each other, destroying the inquisition as you do."

They paled as she addressed them from her place on top of the bar. "Or… You will come to an agreement tonight." She tapped her fingers, settling her gaze on Solas. "Of your arguments, you can cross the divines death off your list. I was there. The explosion was not the result of either the mages or templars. It was one man that is not among you." She kicked her legs, looking back at mages and templars. "Now, fight, work out your terms, and when you are done, I will personally nail your terms to the chantry door beside the Inquisition's declaration."

Listening to the screaming match of a peace talk had been a mistake. A mistake that left her glaring at the torches flanking the war rooms exit and wishing for their death. She'd left the bickering of mages and templars and for what? To be granted by a scout as she nailed their edict to the door and forced to listen to more bickering with a growing migraine?

She didn't remember where the knife in her hand had come from; A templar probably, but it was well made. It was a little duller than she liked, but she could fix that. She flipped the blade over her fingers again. Her feet swayed, too short to touch the ground from where she sat on the table.

They were waiting for her input, of course. It didn't matter that she'd been their prisoner days prior. It didn't matter that she'd never been trained for diplomacy or political strategy. A glowing green mark was all she needed. 

"This would be easier if you treated me like what I am." She jabbed the knife into the table beside her. She leaned on the blade. 

"I'm sorry?" Cullen cleared his throat.

"A figurehead." She glanced over at him. "You want my opinions on a battle, sure. Negotiating with the dalish, ok. Planning a heist, I'm down. Sitting around while you bicker about what the chantry thinks of us?" She yanked the knife out of the wood. "I have no opinions to give. They hate us. So what? We prove with our actions what our intentions are, and if they want in, they'll ask. The chantry can't help but get their grubby hands in everyone's business." She wiggled her fingers.

Cullen failed to stifle a snort. Cassandra and the others were more subtle.

"I hate to admit it. But the herald is right." Josephine set down her clipboard.

"Athi." She corrected. 

Leliana hummed in agreement. "Then why not send Athi to the Hinterlands. With how she managed to ease hostilities with our own mages and templars…"

"I locked them in a room for seven hours until they got along." She cut in.

Leliana ignored her. "Perhaps she can sort out the fighting there."

"Or I could just hit them until they stop." She flipped the knife over in her hands. "With a sharp stick, preferably made of iron."

"Athanasia, please," Josephine begged. "We…"

"I was joking, Josie. I'll play nice and lay down the groundwork while I'm there." She shoved the knife into her belt. "I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun and fresh fact about my chapter titles. Each title is a song the coincides with the content of each chapter. The first is by Mree and this one is by Jesca Hoop.


	3. One Hundred Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edited 2020-02-02] [3/4]  
> -minor changes to grammar and spelling  
> -major and minor changes to some dialogue  
> -character descriptions added  
> -major plot changes  
> -changes to Hawke's personality  
> -chapter title
> 
> [notible warnings]  
> -minor descriptions of gore  
> -self-harm mention

The Hinterlands were a mess when she arrived. Amongst the sprawling hills and valleys, beneath green trees and avaar monuments, there was little space for the violence she brought. But there was no helping it. 

The war had spilled into it after the conclave's destruction. Tempers, and pain, and malice coming to a head and masquerading as something just. There was little just about the fighting here. The mages and templars in the hills only wanted blood, and who was she to deny them that?

There was a little more too her presence in the Hinterlands than hitting people. As always, it started with the chantry. At least this time, they'd sent her properly armed. The short sword on her left hip and the dagger on her right thigh were a comfort, and more practical than the staff they'd tried to give her. 

"You had training." Cassandra noted as Athanasia kicked the last templar off her blade.

"I wouldn't ask for a weapon I couldn't use." She'd hoped to avoid this conversation. But it was inevitable, wasn't it? Mages didn't wield swords. Usually.

"That isn't…" Cassandra shook her head. "I only meant that I…" 

"You weren't expecting it." She wiped the blood off her blades before sheathing them. Cassandra had never been good at conveying what she meant. Words that were supposed to be kind, tended to hit soft spots. "Most mages prefer to hang back. Too squishy for the front lines."

"But not you?"

"I grew up with a sword in my hands. I don't plan to set it down anytime soon." It was what she was good at. No amount of pretending was worth the hassle or the risk. "I really don't want to talk about how I came into magic, Cassandra." Athanasia shot her a look before she could ask another question. 

"I will check on our scouts then." She rubbed the back of her neck before leaving.

Through the chaos of the crossroads, Athanasia was the only one that seemed comfortable in the aftermath. She wasn't especially after her conversation with Cassandra, but she looked it. That was the role she had to play, calm in the face of chaos, someone people could follow.

Solas was the only one that had elected to stay by her side after the fighting. Varric had drifted off to check on the people almost immediately after the fighting was through, and Cassandra… Cassandra was with the Inquisition's scouts.

Mother Giselle, the woman they'd come to meet, was first of the civilians in the crossroads to start distributing aid. Bringing comfort to the survivors and prayers to the dead. She was, as always, a pillar of grace as Athanasia approached watching her work with a skeptical gaze. Supplies had to be low, but it was not comforting to see mages in place of healers.

She scowled at the mage, healing a wounded scout at the Mother's request. "He knows what he's doing, right?" She cast Mother Giselle a look out of the corner of her eyes. 

Giselle's eyes were sharp when they met hers. "Magical healing is…"

"No more evil than a sword." She cut her off with a flat tone. "But it's just as dangerous in the hands of an idiot. Fen Harel's tits, do I seriously have to explain the dangers to every fool I cross?" 

Solas choked on something suspiciously like a laugh behind her. "Well, that's certainly a new one."

"New to you, maybe." She jabbed him in the side with her elbow. "Can you please make sure that fool doesn't stitch two different muscles together?"

"Talking from experience, Athanasia?" Solas was already moving towards the mage.

"The first time I tried to heal something deeper than a scratch, I nearly killed myself." She crossed her arms. "Reopening the wounds a second time to do things right was not fun."

Mother Giselle was unsure as Athanasia turned back to her. "You are… I'm not sure what I was expecting."

"Practicality has always served me well." Athanasia shrugged, reaching to tug at her bangs and twisting the strands of hair between her fingers.

"Well enough to send your  _ friend _ to help?" Giselle's voice was clipped. Her mouth was twisted into a frown as she glared at Athanasia accusingly.

"I don't welcome suffering." She let her hand fall to her side, pacing away from the injured. 

"But you bring it." The Mother shook her head, her tone bleeding frustration as she trailed after her. 

"Would you rather I didn't, that I let those templars and mages raze the crossroads?" Athanasia looked back. There was no anger in her voice. Instead, it was soft, almost curious. She hated yelling.

"You know that is not what I meant."

Athanasia sighed, looking towards the sky as if it could offer her guidance. "I'm not asking for much, Giselle. We both know this war is only the beginning. Just make good on your promise. Or will you abandon Thedas like he did?"

"Will I...?! What of you, Athanasia?" She snapped, her feet moving to pace around Athanasia, to face her. "What did you do to me, Inquisitor? What blasphemy did you commit?"

Athanasia let her gaze drop. "You said you wanted to help. To make it so  _ that _ tragedy would never happen _ at any cost _ . Those were  _ your _ words."

"How could I have possibly agreed to  _ this _ ?!" Giselle threw her hands in the air. "How many will suffer this time, Inquisitor?"

"Who knows." She looked away. "Fewer than last time, probably."

"And what of Verain? If he…"

"He's dead." She cut Giselle off. "He died in the explosion."

Giselle watched her face for any sign of a lie, eventually letting out a relieved breath. "Then, one good thing came of it."

"I wouldn't say that. I was the one that made him so dangerous." Athanasia stretched, reaching above her. "A word of advice, don't tell anyone about Verain, or what you saw in your timeline. I'd rather not repeat the past."

"What exactly did you do, Athanasia?" The anger that had tinged Giselle's voice before was absent. Instead, she just sounded tired.

"I gave you a taste of my little curse. It's temporary for you. The bond that dragged you back with me disintegrated when we revived." Athanasia let out a strained laugh.

"And for you?" Giselle prompted.

"My soul is tied to the archives. Hence the curse." She blew her hair off her forehead. "Look, You don't need me to tell you what has to be done. Just go to Haven. Tell them what you know of the chantry and what's happening with your people, and when I'm done carving into the Hinterlands, I'll head to Val Royeaux and deal with that mess too."

"Your phrasing does not inspire confidence." She chided. 

"It's an accurate description? How else would I remove the fighting in the hills?" Athanasia shook her head.

"You are as blunt as ever, inquisitor." Giselle paced back towards the wounded. "Very well. Do what you must."

"It's just Athanasia, Giselle." 

The Mother laughed. "For now. You are a manipulative one. It's only a matter of time before they are calling you that." She shook her head. "Go. I will leave for the Inquisition, and I will pray it succeeds, Athanasia."

It took a week to clear the Hinterlands. Not because it was an especially difficult task. Athanasia could handle anything it threw at her with ease. No, her time was spent stalling. With how antsy Varric was acting, Athanasia's assumption that Hawke would come had been proven correct. It was only a matter of time before she showed up, and only one chance to convince Cassandra that Varric hadn't been involved. 

It wasn't all a waste. Their time in the Hinterlands had all stabilized the region. The crossroads still needed a healer and they were still waiting on supplies to build watchtowers for the trade routes. But every rift she could reach had been closed and rogue mages and templars in the hills had been evicted. Bandits might take their place eventually. But they wouldn't arrive so quickly.

Hawke came on the fifth day, finding them as Athanasia ran out of reasons to stay. She had a sneaking suspicion Hawke planned it that way. The mischievous grin on her face did nothing to disprove her theory. 

Hawke was a proud woman. Everything in the way she held herself conveyed that. The confidence that radiated off of her didn't come off as unearned. She was beautiful like a fox in winter, her eyes an impossible icy blue, her hair soft and dark, and her lips… But like a fox in winter, she also looked like she could make an idiot out of herself at a moment's notice. 

_ Ah, fuck.  _

Why was it always fools? Why couldn't Hawke look miserable and tired, like she had every time they'd met prior? Not that she wanted Hawke to be miserable and tired… It was better that she wasn't. It meant Varric was happier. But…

She could feel the uncomfortable grimace on her face as she stared up at Hawke. She was like a fox cub, practically bouncing in place at the chaos she was bound to bring. _ Ah, fuck. _

"Not happy to see me, Athi?" Hawke feigned sadness. "I'm hurt. After I came all this way to see you." She sniffled, not bothering to hide her grin.

Athanasia made a noise in the back of her throat, still grimacing. She grumbled the first words that came to mind. "Why the fuck are you so tall?" 

She regretted speaking immediately as she watched Hawkes grin grow until it was near splitting her face. "Why are you so fucking short?" She waved a hand over Athanasia's head. She was nearly a whole head taller, but she was also human. Humans were always tall. Athanasia swatted at her hand with a scowl. Hawke laughed, her gaze passing over Cassandra and Solas to land on Varric. "Ah, it's good to be back in Ferelden." She leaned Athanasia's shoulder, shameless. "And to see my favourite dwarf! Funny meeting you here, Varric."

Varric shrugged. "Yeah, well. You know me, Hawke. I was persuaded to stay."

"He means to say, his conscience won't let him leave." Athanasia didn't bother to remove Hawke's arm from her shoulder. "It doesn't stop him from complaining about it, though."

Hawke snorted a laugh. "It's part of his charm. It grows on you."

"I thought that was just the…" She gestured up and down her torso. "You know. Chest hair."

The lighthearted greetings didn't last long. It was only a matter of time before confusion bled out of Cassandra's features, and something darker replaced it. Anger and betrayal. Guilt filled a pit in Athanasia's stomach. She'd anticipated Cassandra's anger long before Hawke had arrived. But to say the seeker was angry would be an understatement. Cassandra was pissed and on a warpath to rip Varric, a new one. Unless someone interfered.

Athanasia pushed Hawke's arm off her shoulder, moving to stop the seeker from charging him. "I asked her to come." She gripped Cassandra's wrist. "If you want to be angry at anyone, be angry at me. I was the one that contacted Hawke."

Cassandra glared at Athanasia, wrenching her wrist from her grip. She wore the hurt of Athanasia's betrayal on her face. "You knew where Hawke was this whole time?!"

"I knew where to look." She admitted, looking away towards Hawke. "She wasn't exactly being subtle in Crestwood."

Hawke shrugged nonchalantly. "You got me. Never really been the roguish type."

"And you said nothing?!" Cassandra shook her head in disbelief. 

"You never asked." Athanasia breathed.

"Why would I?!" She snapped. "What reason would I have to?"

"That's…" Athanasia cursed under her breath. "Yeah, no, that's a... fair point." She winced a little as her words trailed off. 

The air tasted bitter between them. The hostile quiet had wrapped like vines around their necks, like a saying she'd heard too many times. Careless words can strangle the voice that brings them. 

"At the temple," Athanasia forced herself to meet Cassandra's accusing stare. "You watched me carve a name into my arm, and I told you I knew who was responsible for the divines death." She rolled her jacket up past her left elbow and unlaced the sleeve beneath. The bandages beneath were stained with dried blood and puss, and the grey-green of the salve Adan had given her. "I underestimated just how much he'd taken from my memory." 

Cassandra's eyes widened as she watched Athanasia pull the knot securing the gauze. She unwrapped her wrist slowly. The remains of the salve crumbled between the cracked scabs. The infection was mostly gone. But wounds were still angry, the pulsing glow of the ichor surrounding them. She brushed the wounds gently with the used gauze, removing as much of the salve and the blood she could. She held her arm out, so the name carved in her skin was on display. 

"I need Hawke to give me some answers." She could hear Hawke and varric suck in a breath through their teeth behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Solas tense. And Cassandra… "I'm sorry for not telling you. I wasn't really thinking anything but the answers she could give me."

Cassandra tore her eyes away from the wounds to meet Athanasia's gaze. "It's…" she took a deep breath, shutting her eyes for just a moment. "I understand. I don't like it. But I understand, Athi."

Hawke cleared her throat. "I think both of us would prefer a private conversation. Corypheus isn't exactly light reading."

There was an awkward air between them as she followed Hawke away from the group, and she had no idea how to make it go away. It wasn't like she'd never spoken to Hawke before. But Hawke she knew was too tired to play games like this one. The war had worn her thin, and with her brother hearing the false calling, she hadn't had much humour left in her. 

Between Hawke's arrival and Cassandra's ire, she was left at a loss. She hadn't exactly lied to Cassandra, lying was tricky and risky with too many variables to keep track of. But it wasn't the whole truth. Only time could determine if Cassandra could ever hear the whole truth. It was too early for that. 

Hawke stopped at the edge of a pond, far enough away that nothing short of yelling could be heard by the others. That should have bothered Athanasia, but surprisingly, apart from the awkward air between them, she unbothered. Restless as she was in the silence, there was no itch telling her to run.

Instead, there was confusion as Hawke offered a hand to Athanasia. She lifted her arm instinctively, only pulling it back when she realized she was unsure what Hawke meant by it. 

"Your arm." Hawke clarified, reaching further to catch Athanasia's hand in her own. She tugged Athanasia closer, turning her arm over to view the cuts better. "I can h…"

"Don't." Athanasia jerked her arm back. Hawke's grip stayed firm. Athanasia's eyes wandered anywhere as if looking for an escape.

"I won't hurt you with magic, Athi." Hawkes voice was soft, careful like she was talking to a wild animal that would bolt at a sudden movement. Maybe Athanasia would have if her wrist wasn't being held captive. "I've done this plenty of times for my siblings."

"It's not… I know how magic works. I am a mage." She jerked her arm back again, panic rising beneath her skin. But Hawke still didn't budge.

"Athi. Athi, look at me." Her eyes snapped up to Hawke's. They were still clear and impossibly blue, and more than that… They were calm. "Do you trust me?"

"I…" Did she trust Hawke? Did she trust this woman she'd never properly met, that she'd only ever known through Varric? The Hawke in front of her was an unknown element she couldn't predict. But somehow… "Yes." She breathed, the panic under her skin settling under her gaze. 

Hawke graced her with a gentle smile moving her other hand over Athanasia's forearm. She stripped the grime Athanasia's skin with a smooth, practiced motion first. Her eyes drifted down to her arm as she worked, pulling what remained of the infection free of her flesh and knitting the flesh back together. The green glow of ichor remained, but it was no longer the angry pulse it had been.

Her work was quick but well done. Athanasia could barely see the scars left behind. They were pale and faded like it had been years instead of seconds. It was what she hated most about magical healing. Not the risk or the pain or the magic. But the absence of evidence. Every new timeline washed her body clean of scars, leaving no evidence of her efforts. 

"Not to your standards?" Hawke loosened her grip.

"Magical healing gives me the creeps. It has nothing to do with your skill." She pulled her wrist free, pacing away from Hawke. "The body is an archive. How do you trace the past when it leaves no mark?" She shuddered. "Can we talk about corypheus instead?"

"You mean the man I killed? He was a little charred the last time I saw him. full little stab wounds and fire and all that." She wiggled her fingers. "Not sure how he could survive all that. He was very dead when I left."

"There's plenty of ways." Athanasia scratched at the back of her neck. "Corypheus is a tevine name, so I imagine blood rites have something to do with it. You know, with the delusion of grandeur and aspirations of godhood."

"Varric, tell you about that?"

She shook her head, letting her arm drop. "It's just something I remember. I was hunting him before the conclave. I remember a lot of the how's and why's. But the who's and what's are just… Missing." An edge of frustration crept into her voice.

Hawke nodded, turning towards the pond to watch the water. She sighed. "Of course, it would be blood magic." She glanced back at Athanasia. "What kind of rite are we talking about?"

"There's a few that link souls. It's fallen out of favour, but the one I know best used to be an old marriage ritual." Athanasia looked at her arm, running a hand over it absently before relacing her sleeve over it.

"Would an ancient darkspawn magister even bother to learn an old marriage ritual?" Hawke laughed sarcastically.

"He'd be expected to, as an ancient magister." She pulled her jacket sleeve back down. "What I meant was that it would be easy to abuse. The rite linked souls so that both couples essentially shared one. When done between two mortals it just raises their senses and allows them to share mana. But when you change the parameters and link the soul to something like an object or a demon, they can create a sort of… Conditional immortality." She watched Hawke tilt her head to the side. "He'll keep coming back until whatever he's bound to is destroyed."

"Like Flemeth," Hawke muttered. "Shit."

Athanasia shook her head. "Flemeth relies on empty vessels, not bonds. She's complicated. Her soul is bound to Mythal's, but Mythal is mostly dead. The only two slivers of her soul that remain is her power that she gifted to Flemeth, and her will that remains in the well of sorrows. Her immortality is like pouring water into an empty cup that will eventually dissolve. She has to be alive to do it. His is leash that pulls his soul into something else as he dies, something that will persist after he claims his new body. Otherwise, it would be simple to kill him." She waved a hand back and forth. 

"There wasn't wasn't a whole lot in his prison." Hawke groaned. "Just me, Carver, Isabella… Aveline. A lot of darkspawn. Carta dwarves? There was nothing old and tevine lying around." Hawke took a few steps along the edge of the pond. "I'll need to do some digging and ask Carver if he remembers anything. I'll find you when I have something, Athi."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally about 1500 words. It's now a little over 3300 words. the original version was so rushed it lept over plot elements I needed it to hit or it bulldozed through them. It was the biggest reason I went back to edit everything as Athi's interactions with Mother Giselle are important to the subplot (what happened in the previous timeline) and Athi's interactions with Hawke are important to the main romance plot. I specifically wanted a more 'useless lesbian' vibe from Athi.   
> Actually most chapters so far have added about 1-2 thousand words each. Is this what happens when you actually describe things...? Seriously speaking though I have a much better understanding of what I want to do with future chapters.


	4. Brutus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edited 202-03-02] [4/4]  
> -minor changes to grammar and spelling  
> -major and minor changes to some dialogue  
> -character descriptions added
> 
> [notible warnings]  
> -religion critical  
> -minor descriptions of violence
> 
> (additional note on the religion warning at the bottom as it contains spoilers)

Val Royeoux was excessive. The white streets and gold plated statues were too gaudy for Athanasia's tastes, and if that wasn't enough, it was full of Orlesians. She preferred the backstreets to main roads when she was forced to enter the city. There were fewer stares and even less with her glowing palm tucked away in her pocket. But she didn't have that option right now.

Coming to Val Royeoux was always a show. It would always be political even in the backroads. Maybe especially so, things rarely started on the main streets.

"Fucking Orlesians," She grumbled under her breath, the gloves on her hands did little to deter peoples stares. It was obvious who she was. "Stupid Orlesians and their stupid guilding. Dread wolf's balls. It's excessive.

"Could you stop that?" The annoyed sigh Solas let out was as familiar as ever. But then she'd been antagonizing him on purpose.

"Why?" She adjusted her gloves. "Does the wolf not have a sense of humour? Will he come out of the shadows and eat me for making comments about his balls?" She glanced back at Solas.

"He might." Despite the annoyance in his tone, she could see amusement dancing in his eyes. He knew by now that there was no real bite to the insults. They'd settled into an unspoken agreement to ignore the darker tension between them in favour of shallow jabs.

"I'm quivering in my boots. Positively petrified." She made a show of rubbing her arms.

"Can't you elves get along for three minutes?" Varric grumbled. 

"Define, _ get along. _ " She redirected her gaze to look at the dwarf.

"I can't imagine Athanasia has ever _gotten_ _along_ with anyone." Solas drawled. 

"I'm hurt,  _ hahren _ ." She feigned offence. "I get along with plenty of people. Some of them I even like." She clicked her tongue, gesturing to the streets around them. "Offense or not, you have to admit this is way much gold. Every time I'm forced to come here, it seems like there's more of it."

Val Royeuox was and would be a familiar dance. Beyond the masks and the gold and fancy fabrics, the city was a stage set for marionettes. The main roads would always host its spotlights while the back streets scrambled to pull at strings for its main act. The chantry, like every show that played out along the main roads, was predictable in their accusations. 

It wasn't like Athanasia didn't know she'd be called a heretic the moment people started calling her Andraste's Herald. But she wasn't about to play along with Val Royeuox's script. They could call her heresy into question the moment she entered the main square. But it wasn't like her own response really mattered. The outcome was already decided, and her accuser had already started her performance on a more literal stage.

"Does it matter? If I was really called by your God or not, does it actually matter?" Athanasia interrupted the Chantry Mother's monologuing. She held the old woman's wide-eyed gaze, her own expression almost bored. "The way I see it, all that matters is what's here and now, and I'm here with a glowy hand that can stitch the veil back together." She pulled the glove on her left hand off to expose the glowing palm beneath. 

The shift in air echoed through the gasps of the crowd, and the tremor in the Mother's voice when she addressed her. "Of course, it matters. You will drag Andraste's name in the mud to do it."

"You're the one doing the dragging, Revered Mother. I don't control what people call me." Her eyes wandered down to her palm, her fingers following, rubbing at the mark.

"You dare accuse us, Herald of Andraste? We…"

"Athanasia." She cut the Mother off, raising her voice. "My name is Athanasia Mireille, and I only speak for myself. Consider this a formal statement from me. With or without the chantry's support, I will continue my work to close the breach and deal with the one responsible for it. Not for any recognition or influence. But because people are suffering and I am capable of helping."

"With your army?!" The Revered Mother scoffed, pacing the stage.

"Well, if the chantry won't send aid," Athanasia looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. "Someone has to." She looked back at the Mother. 

The old woman was afraid. She looked afraid, and as she held Athanasia's gaze, that fear grew deeper. "Your arrogance knows no bounds, Herald. The people do not need your Inquisition. The Templars have returned to the chantry. They will fix this mess." 

Athanasia cast a look to Cassandra as the Templars filed onto the stage. She didn't have to look to know what would happen next. Seeker Lucius, the leader of these templars had always been an ass. At least he had been for as long as she'd known him.

Cassandra's shock painted a different picture; One she'd never understand. There was no point in trying to know the seeker as anything but what he was now. Here and now he was Envy, greedy, and jealous, and entitled, and cruel. The man she'd met later, the actual seeker Lucius hadn't been much better. He had been twisted and apathetic using the seeker order to fulfil his own twisted fantasy of destruction and for what? A book of cruel lies?

Athanasia winced at the sound of the Revered Mother hitting the stage. Usually, there was no benefit to losing her temper on behalf of another. But she'd planned to yell at Lucius from the start, to expose the extent of his true nature to Cassandra.

She took a breath, tasting the cruel words on her tongue for a moment before she followed him. She schooled her expression into a glare. "So, the templars have taken to beating up old women? Were the tranquil not helpless enough? Or do you just want recognition for your crimes, Lucius?" She called after the templar. 

"You will not speak to me, herald." He snapped, turning to face her. Lucius was not an attractive man. He was greasy, his hair was stringy and balding, and were teeth crooked and chipped. His features didn't make up for anything. He was a cruel man and he looked the part. "I am…" 

She cut him off with a wave of her left hand, watching his eyes follow the anchor. "I hate to say it, but seeker Lambert beat you to the asshole of the year award. This war is his work, after all." She gestured to the chaos around them. "So you can shut up now. You're more than replaceable."

He glare, his crooked teeth bared in a sneer. "What do you know of anything elf? You play war and politics. But you know nothing."

She let out a low whistle. "I know more than you think." She tilted her head pretending to think for a moment. "Actually, I heard a rumour a while ago that they were allowing demons into the Templars ranks now. I wonder if they meant it literally, or just as a reflection of your character." She eyed the seeker's templars as he threw a fit, stopping on sir Barris. He was one of the few templars she had any respect for. 

The seeker grit his teeth a retort just on the tip of his tongue. But she didn't let him speak further. "Contrary to what you think of yourself, seeker, the world doesn't need you. It doesn't even want you. All that self-importance you spout is nonsense. You are insignificant because you cling to fame and authority you haven't earned. It's a pity. The templar order is doomed unless it can cut away everything like you."

She turned back to the chantry mother on the stage behind her, hesitating before looking back to Lucius. "A word of advice, salvage what's good about your order and leave the rest behind. Going down with a sinking ship is meaningless." She caught Barris' eye as she continued to the stage. 

He'd understood that her parting words weren't meant for the seeker if his expression was anything to go on. Whether or not he'd listen to her advice was another thing. He'd have to decide what was worth saving on his own. 

His gaze didn't leave her as she knelt before the fallen Mother. She could feel it as Cassandra and Varric worked to disperse the panicked crowd. Until Lucius collected his anger and ordered him away. 

"This must please you herald." The revered Mother coughed as Athanasia examined her. "The chantry in shambles, the Templars abandoning us."

"It's Athanasia, and no. I'm not pleased." She examined the Mother's expression before raising an open palm before her face. Her mana washed over the Mother as she continued. "You clearly haven't read the reports from Haven or the Hinterlands. My methods are blunt and often tactless, but they're not unkind." The Mother tensed as she worked, but remained still.

"So you say, but there is more to come. Will your blade always be pointed at bandits and rogues?" The Mother looked away. "Or will it be pointed at us?"

Athanasia bit her lip, her hand falling back to her side. "Have you ever been injured? Seriously I mean. Sometimes, healing requires a knife to cut away infected flesh and dead skin. Sometimes organs have to be removed so the body can continue working, limbs may have to be amputated for life to go on. In many ways, this war is like that. There is infected flesh and organs that have to be removed, if only for life to go on. I don't delight in suffering, and frankly, I'd prefer a peaceful solution. But it isn't possible. Or if it is, I am not capable of it."

"That…" the Mother looked back at her. "I cannot say I was expecting that metaphor. Then you view the chantry as a sickness."

"The chantry is the chantry. It's the sum of its parts. It could do good. It could unify the people and bring peace. But it could also do irreparable harm. It's up to you and every other member to define it as an open hand or a closed fist."

"And the inquisition is the same." The Mother sighed. 

"Yes."

"You said before that you did not believe you were sent by Andraste." The Mother started. "Then tell me, what do you believe? What guides you, Athanasia."

Athanasia offered her a small smile. "I'm just me, as I've always been. There's no special purpose. I just hate doing nothing when I have the power to help." She stood, leaving the healed Mother on her stage and rejoining Cassandra.

To say Val Royeoux was in disarray in the wake of the templar's absence would have been an understatement. In the years that followed their rise to power, they'd made themselves into symbols of faith with the chantry's support. 

Athanasia wondered if that chantry even realized that their greatest strength would also be their guillotine. Every crime the Templars committed would pile up and weigh on the chantry until the blade dropped as it had in Kirkwall. Or maybe the purposeful ignorance of their own order would save them. But you could only remain blind to it for so long.

In another life, Athanasia had been the death of faith. She'd been the one that released the blade. She'd watched the riots and the chaos as people clung to failed ideologies or simply walked away. She'd never understood why people stayed. How could they stay with a faith built on lies and bloodshed and hate? Had she not abandoned her own gods for the same reason? 

Faith was… Complicated. It was easier to leave it behind.

But how far could she run with a god's hand wrapped around her neck like a leash? Something had to give. Someone had to die. 

The easy solution was him. Athanasia hated him too. But there was no guarantee her leash would loosen if she chose him. 

She felt Cassandra nudge her side. "Athi?"

"I… Yes?" 

Cassandra raised a red cloth in her hand. "It would seem someone is trying to get our attention."

She took the cloth, turning it over in her hands. "Then, we should reply, no?"

"It could be a trap." Cassandra crossed her arms.

"From Red Jenny? Doubt it. We aren't cruel enough to earn her ire yet. We're still helping the little people." She tossed the red cloth to Varric. "Care for a scavenger hunt?"

He laughed. "It's like I'm back in Kirkwall, I swear."

"I imagine there's fewer blood mages in Val Royeoux. Marginally."

"Only marginally?"

"The back streets have a band of them." She shrugged. "Every so often, an animal or a beggar goes missing, and the guards and templars turn a blind eye because it's no one important." 

"No one cares?" Solas cut in, his expression twisted into confusion. "Wouldn't the chantry...?"

"Historically, no." She let out a sigh, leading them to the other side of the plaza to the docks. "It's disgusting, don't get me wrong. But they won't act on my words. Especially not with the limited templars they have. Short of sending the Inquisition's men," She nodded to Cassandra.

"It would be considered an act of war." She supplied.

"Nothing will happen." Athanasia finished.

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't." Solas frowned. 

She gathered a rag tucked behind a few crates on the dock. "I hate it." 

There were few options to solve the blood mage problem in Val Royeoux's poor districts, and all of them were risky. Starting a war with Orlais was out of the question. Red Jenny, while likely to volunteer, was comprised of civilians, and persuading the chantry would likely end in failure. That only left herself or him. 

There was no arguing that The Iron Bull was useful. His mercenaries, Krem and the others, were skilled. But bringing Qunaris into the Inquisition willingly was a hassle. 

She groaned, barely looking at the streets she was navigating. She'd walked them enough to be able to finder her way blind.

"Thinking pretty hard there, herald." Varric teased.

"I'm going to choose to ignore that." She blew a stray hair out of her face. "I might know someone who can fix the blood mage problem. But it'll be a hassle."

"You said the same thing about our meetings in Haven." Cassandra snorted. 

She scooped another red cloth from outside of a tavern. "They are a hassle," Athanasia complained. "Sitting around and bickering about things that can solve themselves."

"That was your solution to the mage templar fighting in Haven." Solas pointed out.

She shot him a tired look, opening a for to Val Royeoux's upper levels. "It  _ was _ a hassle, and it solved itself."

"You helped it along." He nodded. "You cannot deny that."

"I gave them a shove in the right direction." She conceded, climbing the steps. "But, they did all the work."

The upper levels were quieter, but that quiet and the view overlooking the plaza made it obvious why she'd allowed herself to get sidetracked. Hunting down Red Jenny had its uses. But the others didn't know that. What they did know was that she was ignoring the pointed stare of the messenger at the gate and enchanter Fiona pacing nearby.

"That messenger…" Cassandra started.

"Can wait. Whatever noble he works for likely doesn't have Jenny's influence." Athanasia turned the last scrap of fabric over in her hands. "Besides, he's on our way out. We can speak to him before Enchanter Fiona pounces."

"The first enchanter is here?"

"Of course, why wouldn't she be? It's a chance for her to see what the Inquisition can offer her." And for her to give an invitation to Redcliffe, that meant nothing. That was the conflict of time travel. It could never be just one thing. It had to be every path at once. 

The messenger wasn't anyone special. Madame Du Fer hadn't even been invited to the Inquisition last time, though that hadn't been Athi's doing. Du Fer hadn't piqued the Herald's interest, and so he hadn't bothered. Like most things he didn't care about, he let them fester until they became a problem. Athanasia wasn't about to make the same mistake. She wasn't about to repeat any of his mistakes save for getting drunk on a Tuesday. Tuesdays warranted drinking. 

"Athi." Cassandra cleared her throat, pulling her out of her thoughts. 

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Madame Du Fer is inviting you to a party."

Athanasia glanced at the messenger. "Then you can let her know I'll be there."

Enchanter Fiona all but stormed them at the gate. Her words left her mouth too quickly for their meeting to be an accident like what she wanted them to believe. Though her grace was admirable.

"I was planning to drop by Redcliffe actually. There were some things I wanted to discuss with Arl Teagan. There were some concerning rumours I heard on the down from the Marches I'd like cleared up." It was a lie, of course. There were no rumours until the timeline was changed. But they were as good an excuse as any to get in contact with him and King Alistair. Easing relations between them and the Inquisition worked in their favour.

Fiona frowned. "Concerning rumours?"

"You'll excuse me if I don't share them. I don't want to give them agency. Arl Teagan will be in Redcliffe, won't he?" He was currently. But he wouldn't be by the time they arrived. It would be easier for them to find one of his knights and pass word along through them. How many knights did she know of again?

"He is in Redcliffe Castle. I can arrange a meeting with him if you'd like." Fiona's brows knit together. 

"Could you? I wouldn't want to rush you out of the city." It would be faster and more likely to succeed if she sent word through one of Leliana's crows. She'd never been able to pinpoint the moment that timeline corrected itself. This Fiona could simply cease existing the moment she left the city.

She held back a groan at the headache her thoughts were giving her. Paradoxes and time travel be damned.

"Farewell Fiona."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this chapter touches on faith in more detail than the first chapters "no gods, no masters" I do wish to say that I don't mean any disrespect to people who have faith. 
> 
> Athi's opinions are similar to my own that come from a place estranged from the church. As a mixed non-binary lesbian that was raised in a white christian environment it is a struggle to connect with the idea of god when so much of my experience with faith has been negative. I imagine Athi, as a character that cannot connect to the chantry due to her background as a former dalish elf and can no longer connect to the elven gods as she's been personally wronged by them would feel similarly. 
> 
> Again, I have nothing against people that practice their religion. It's just not something that can bring me peace or comfort.


	5. I'm Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ah. The Orlesian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [notible warnings]  
> -depictions of death  
> -graphic depictions of violence

Athanasia liked crows better than people. The black feathers and squawking never changed. They were predictable, even Baron Plucky, who delighted in chaos. She'd earned the birds respect early on this time, not just because he was prickly and hard to intercept, but because he'd grown on her. 

His feathers fluffed under her fingers as footsteps approached from behind her. But the Baron held his tongue, watching Athanasia for her reaction. "Please don't antagonize the Baron." She murmured, continuing to stroke the corvid perched on the low wall that divided the Inquisition camp from the road into the city. "He's a sensitive soul." The crow cawed his agreement. 

She could hear Hawke's soft laughter behind her, the sound just as sweet as the first time she'd heard it. "Of course. I wouldn't  _ dare _ offend the Baron."

Athanasia looked back at the woman. Her black hair was messy and dishevelled, matching the smears of dirt and grime upon her face and armour. Her casual grin a contrast to whatever fight she'd come from and the glint in her eyes telling her she'd won. 

Athanasia ignored the fluttery feeling in her chest with a small grimace.  _ Really? Was she a lovesick little girl? _ Attraction was fleeting and messy.

"You think I'm joking, don't you? Baron Plucky is notoriously easy to offend. Most of the Inquisition's scouts avoid him because of it." She turned back to the bird, scratching the feathers beneath his chin affectionately. "Do you mind taking that note to Teagan for me, Sir? It's very important." 

He cawed back, his wings unfurling with a swift grace. Then he was gone, leaving her alone with Hawke. She turned her attention back to Hawke, hoping her hesitation wasn't clear on her face. Beneath the general grime, Athanasia could see more than a few shallow cuts.

"You were in a fight?" She stated as Hawke sauntered towards her, stopping to rest on the wall where the Baron had been.

Hawke shrugged. "It was nothing. Just the same shit I dealt with in…"

"In Kirkwall?" Athanasia finished for her. She patted her pockets down, searching for anything to clean the grime from Hawke's face. 

Hawke hummed an affirmation, nodding. Athanasia fished a roll of gauze out of her pocket, reaching to wipe the dirt off Hawke's face. Hawke didn't protest, letting her prod bruises and cuts as she went. "Then you ran into the Venatori."

"You know the vints that attacked me and what they're here for?" Hawke cocked her head to the side, watching her as she worked. 

"The Venatori worship Corypheus. They're here for the same reasons I am, to scout out the mages and templars." Athanasia's hands paused, pulling back to examine her work. "Would you listen if I told you to be more careful?" She looked up to meet Hawke's eyes.

Hawke looked away, snorting a laugh. "Maybe, it depends on the incentive."

"The  _ incentive _ is you don't get hurt as often. But I'll take that as a no." Athanasia blew her bangs off her face, moving to pace away from Hawke. Clear of the dirt and grime Hawke was… Hawke was making it hard to think. "How's Venatori activity in Val Royeaux?" 

"You already know about the Venatori in Val Royeaux." Hawke leaned back, her arms crossing across her chest. Her teasing tone didn't quite mask her suspicion. 

"I know of them, yes. But the details always change between ti…" She paused, cursing her choice of words. "Being there is different. I'm not all-knowing."

"Between?" Hawke pushed off the wall.

Athanasia turned to look up at her. "There's no way you'll drop this, is there?"

"Nope." Hawke drawled. "Not a chance, miss mystery."

Athanasia cursed, looking towards the road into the city. "There's a party I was invited to back in the city. I don't have much time before I have to head out. I don't suppose that cleaning spell of yours will work on...all this." She gestured to the whole of Hawke stiffly.

Hawke held a straight face for all of two seconds before snorting a laugh. "I have a change of clothes, yes." She grinned. "Did you want…?"

"Just get changed, Hawke." Athanasia scowled, puffing her cheeks out a bit as she crossed her arms. 

There was no point in expecting Hawke to be merciful. Athanasia had never seen her out of armour, or really in any semblance of put together. She lived and breathed chaos, and it suited her.

She'd stolen Varric's jacket, rolling the sleeves further up to rest at her elbows. The loose and lacey chemise she wore under it was more suited for a brothel than the streets. The sheer nature of her 'shirt' left little to imagine about the bralette beneath. Then there was the tight leather of her pants…

" _ A change of clothes _ ," Athanasia repeated, ignoring the heat rising in her cheeks. "You're a walking scandal." 

"It isn't a day unless I'm making an Orlesian faint." She shrugged, following Athanasia as she began down the road to Val Royeaux. 

Hawke was too observant to mistake her refusal to look at her as a sign of disapproval. Though Athanasia wished she would, anything to remove the smug grin on her face. Hawke knew what she was doing, and she was damn proud of herself.

It was infuriating. It wasn't like Athanasia was a stranger to people attempting to seduce her. People threw themselves at her all the time, mostly because of her title. But Hawke seemed different.

The worst part of everything wasn't her blatant attraction to the woman. It was the fact that every fibre of her being wanted to tell her everything like it was trivial. It wasn't. Hawke could ruin every plan she'd ever made. But Athanasia had a gut feeling it would be okay. Her mouth opened, spilling her answer in the air between them before she consciously decided.

"You can't tell anyone." She fidgeted with a lock of hair as she spoke. "Not even your brother or Varric."

Hawke said nothing at first. But Athanasia could feel her gaze on her, watching her like a cat watches a mouse. "You don't want to tell me." She said finally.

"I don't want you hurt." Athanasia let her hand fall, turning her head to look up at Hawke. "My secrets have a bad habit of getting people killed." She took a deep breath. "I didn't want you involved at all. I knew you would get involved with the Inquisition eventually. But… Why aren't you with your brother right now? Is he not hearing the false calling?"

Hawke's eyes widened for a moment. "It's false?"

"Yes?" Athanasia looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. "Why would every warden be experiencing the same calling?"

"That's…" Hawke paused before cursing. "Shit. How did I not realize that? Corypheus did the exact same thing in the warden prison." She paced a few steps ahead, stopping at the city gates. "It's a relief. But, how do you know all this, Athi?"

"Because I've done this before." She clenched her left hand into a fist. "The breach, the demons, the wardens. There are pieces that are missing, but I've done this dance before. I know the steps. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

Athanasia shuffled in place uncomfortably. "The Inquisition is going to meet the rebel mages in Redcliffe, and by the time we get there, they will be indentured to the Venatori." She looked up at the night sky above them. "There's no way to stop it. Even though enchanter Fiona invited me herself, she won't remember. Somewhere between now and Fiona returning to Redcliffe time shifts. The version of Fiona that invited me to Redcliffe just stops existing, and is replaced with a version that accepted the Venatori's offer immediately after the breach."

Hawke's face scrunched in confusion. "That doesn't make sense."

"The Venatori have an artifact that allows them to manipulate time. I know because I've used it myself."

"So, what? You've gone back in time like them?"

"I don't control the artifact I'm…" Athanasia shook her head. "It's complicated… And stupid." 

She gestured for Hawke to follow her as she arched for the right words. She could navigate the dimly lit streets of Val Royeaux blind. Words were harder.

"I had the same artifact the Venatori have now." She admitted. "But I don't have it anymore. There's an archive in the veil guarded by a monster. It's where mine is, and it's where it will stay until someone kills her or she kills me." 

Athanasia stopped just short of Madame Du Fer's mansion. "I'm stuck in a time loop Hawke. One that starts the day I leave for the conclave and ends when I die. I've lost count of how many times I've closed the breach or failed to close the breach. There's always something worse."

Hawke scratched the back of her head, opening her mouth and shutting it a few times before she spoke. "You know what. I saw some weird shit in Kirkwall, I… I  _ can _ accept time magic. Plus, there's a weird cult involved. It's always a weird cult that pulls shit like time magic or creating false callings. At least this one's not sending assassins after me this time."

"It's always good when they don't send assassins. It's one less thing to worry about when dealing with a world-ending plot." She shuffled in place a little. "Though it  _ is  _ still early."

Hawke snorted. "So, how old are you exactly, athi?"

"Twenty-three?" She frowned. "No, wait, six? Or was it eight? Are we counting the time loop years? Because I've lost track of those."

It was good to see Hawke laugh, even if it was at her expense. "We don't have to count loop years."

She'd expected Hawke to leave after her explanation. Instead, she stayed, even after she was done prodding Athanasia for more information. It was obvious that they were both out of place in the gilded mansion of Madame Du Fer. But Hawke at least had an out. She wasn't trying to earn a noble's favour. But she stayed, waiting at the exit while Athanasia talked the enchanter out of murder.

There was an art to speaking with Orlesian nobles that Athanasia hated. The formal posturing and masked expressions, the air of dignity she couldn't care less about. It was pleasant small talk and veiled insults that lead to Hawke draping an arm over her shoulder to spin stories that only barely touched the truth. They stayed far longer than Athanasia wanted to, but contacts were important, and Hawke was doing most of the work.

If it was possible, Hawke had more questions for her when they left about everything from gossip to tragedy. There was no end to them, but they were comforting in a way. It wasn't often she could tell anyone about her history. "It's not a copy. It's the same artifact. It's just from another timeline." Athanasia ran a hand through her hair, glaring up at the fence that stood between her and the rest of her path to Red Jenny's rendezvous. "It works because it's in the fade. Time is stupid in the fade. It's not real unless you make it real."

Hawke groaned. "You know I'm starting to understand why Varric hates magic."

"Time magic is stupid and ridiculous. It's full of contradictions and conditions." Athanasia gripped the fence, resting her foot on top of the elaborate ironwork. "Dorian, the man that helped create the amulet, tried explaining it to me once." She scaled the fence resting on the top of it. "I didn't get it either."

"Do I get to meet this Dorian?" Hawke followed her up and over the fence.

"Are you sticking around?"

"Of course." Hawke rolled her eyes. 

"Then, you'll meet Dorian." Athanasia pulled her hands over her head, scanning the garden of the manor that they'd successfully infiltrated. It hadn't been hard. Marquis Whatever-His-Name-Was, wasn't particularly influential or wealthy. Athanasia had taken the time to learn who he was exactly once, and it wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth anything. The posturing, the ranting, his guards, his status… None of it was ever worth anything. He was just obnoxious. 

_ She had to deal with him to find Sera. _

She groaned, running a hand over her face. "Fen's balls, I forgot about  _ him _ ."

"Him?" Hawke frowned.

"The Orlesian." She clarified as if it would explain anything. "The annoying one."

"There's... There's so many…" Hawke whispered to herself. "Athi, there's so many. They're  _ Orlesian _ . It's a requirement to be annoying."

It was easier to show Hawke than explain herself. Athanasia didn't have the words to convey why Marquis Whoever-The-Fuck, was so annoying. Though if she could have, she would have avoided their meeting entirely. He was just as obnoxious as she remembered, if not more. 

She resisted the urge to let her eyes glaze over as he talked. Her resting expression lent well to ignoring nobles when they droned on and on and on with no end in sight. Usually, the absence of a response was enough to make them stop. But Marquis lacked that self-awareness, and he just  _ kept _ ranting. 

"Ah.  _ The Orlesian _ ." Hawke's arm was warm where she'd draped it over Athanasia's shoulders. She leaned in close to Athanasia's ear, speaking in a voice only she could hear. "Who is this guy ?"

"I have no idea." She felt herself scowl as Hawke's laugh breathed hot air down her neck. There was no way Hawke didn't notice the blush creeping onto her face. Despite Hawke's dedication to distracting her, Athanasia still caught the familiar flash of yellow entering the courtyard. 

Sera was less than subtle in her approach. But she didn't have to be with the still droning Marquis. Athanasia shrugged Hawke off her shoulder, huffing a deep sigh. She could feel the irritation seeping into her expression as she finally looked him in the eye. "Do you mind shutting up? I really don't care about your supposed plot to take down the Inquisition."

"Shut up?! Do you know who I am? You will…" His indignant protest was cut short with an arrow. His words gurgled in his throat as he dropped to his knees, choking on a messy death. It wasn't the fastest way to go, but lost consciousness quick enough, landing in the growing puddle of his own blood.

"Lady said to shut up." Sera grimaced with disgust, hesitating to approach the Orlesian as he bled out. "Squishy one, ain't he?"

"Not so resistant to arrows." Athanasia nodded in agreement. "Though most people aren't…"

Sera never changed. The worn red dress she wore was patched messily with scrap fabric she'd 'acquired', her hair carved into a familiar practical disaster. It suited her. 

There was no salvaging the arrow from the Marquis' neck. The way he'd landed had snapped the shaft in two much to Sera's displeasure. Her childish pout, still visible when she addressed Athanasia. 

"You're her, the Herald of Andraste." She leaned to the side, watching the flickering light the anchor gave off. "You're… uh…" she scowled.

"Too elfy for your tastes?" Athanasia rolled her eyes, running a hand through her hair and cursing as she caught knots.  _ Of course, she caught knots, with how thick her hair was, it'd be impossible not to.  _ "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Sera snorted. "Right? Doesn't really matter, I guess. Jus' that you're all glowing and shit. Cuz you're the herald of Andraste and all that."

"You know the herald thing is nonsense, right?" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's just Athi."

"Riiight,  _ just Athi. _ " Sera snorted. 

Athanasia shot a tired look to Hawke. Hawke shrugged a bemused smile playing on her lips. "You're the one that suggested finding Red Jenny."

"I have... So much regret already."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took far longer than it should have but it's here!


End file.
